


What a Drag

by Charon_the_Sabercat



Category: Motorcity
Genre: AKA Mike's a little bit pan and just hasn't spend much time thinking about it, All pairings taken lightly, Drag, Lingerie, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charon_the_Sabercat/pseuds/Charon_the_Sabercat
Summary: If they had told Mike Chilton that he'd be storming the Duke of Detroit's mansion with all his Burners, he'd probably clap them on the back and say that was a great idea. Maybe less if they'd told him he'd be doing it in heels and a stuffed bra.Basically a fun excuse to get the Burners in nice outfits and have them toss innuendos at each other.





	1. Chapter 1

The line at the Duke of Detroit's door was weirdly long and feverish. Mike didn't know the details all that much. He'd heard a rumor from one of Jacob's rare customers that The Duke was doing something big, and that it involved a drag race, and that it was open invitation. Everybody meant everybody, too, as a few familiar faces passed him as they reached the front and left the line. Rayon and a bunch of his Skylarks, the Amazons, the Weekend Warriors, those robot-fighting chuckleheads that Texas was involved with once, along with a few folks Mike only knew from the gossip mill like the rich families and the old dude Motorcity unofficially called The Mayor. In retrospect, he probably should have been suspicious when so many people that didn't give a rat's ass about cars were showing up and leaving the line, but he was too excited. Long as the line was, it was moving fast. He'd grabbed Chuck and Dutch because they were around and he hated waiting in line by himself, and despite Dutch's worries that they were in a line for who-knows-what and Chuck's general being Chuck, Mike was certain everything was going to be great.

He was wrong, of course, but he didn't know that yet. He was just psyched to finally be at the front of the line, and he smiled easily for the doorman. “Hey. Mike Chilton and the Burners, here to sign up for the drag race.”

“Not race,” said the door man. “Drag party. Three days from now. In or out?”

“Drag party?” Mike checked with Chuck and Dutch, who gave him matching shrugs. “You... mean you're inviting people over to watch a drag race?”

“No race,” said the door man. He started to scowl. “Drag _party_. In, or out?”

“Mike, this is feeling a little weird,” said Dutch. “Maybe we should go home.”

“COME ON, Number 3!” The booming voice made Mike reflexively flinch. Please not him, he was looking forward to just putting in his request and leaving, he did not want to talk to the Duke of Detroit in person. The voice kept coming from every direction, putting him on edge. “You can't just ask! You gotta SELL IT!”

If The Duke excelled at anything, it was “selling” himself. The whole front porch and half of the junkyard erupted in pyrotechnics, sending screams through the rest of the line and one particularly familiar one directly into Mike's right ear. Electric guitars screamed from hidden speakers. The front doors flew open with a bang, enough to ruffle his jacket, and the doorman fell flat onto his face as the Duke of Detroit emerged from the mansion. Arms wide open, feet planted, legs spread, crotch out as usual, the Duke of Detroit was never a man for subtlety. He spoke in a shout as if addressing the whole crowd, even with his shades planted square on Mike. “Oh look! It's the Burners! The tender little lambs have come all the way out for their first big boy parties!”

If The Duke was going to hit Mike, he probably could have tracked him. But Mike never knew where The Duke was going when he made those grand, sweeping moves out of his line of sight. His answer came only with Dutch and Chuck's squawks of protest behind him; when Mike turned, The Duke had an arm each around their shoulders. Dutch was peeved. Chuck looked like he was about to shake out of his skin. The Duke only grinned and pulled them closer. “All these tender little babyfaces! I almost feel like I have to card you! You're what, sixteen, little Mikey?”

Mike nearly snarled. Nearly. He couldn't let on that 'Mikey' was only for- anyway. Mike kept his face stony. “Twenty.”

“Oh perfect! Then you're eligible for the big prize!” The Duke of Detroit released his captives to open up one flap of his coat. Inside, rolled into his pocket and stuffed about halfway in, was a blueprint. The paper was unmistakable, and even then, he half unrolled it to let Mike see a tantalizing peek of... something. He couldn't make out the entire thing. “First place in the contest gets the plans for the unlimited power source! Enough energy to power ALL of Motorcity! Or maybe just render it into a little tiny ember under Detroit Deluxe. Any way you want it.”

Chuck and Dutch gasped. A shudder went up Mike's spine. That couldn't be! That was something they'd handled over a year ago, dropping the damaged power core into the Motorcity Doom Jump! How'd The Duke get the plans from Doctor Hudson? It had to be a setup. Mike called him out on it. “You're making that up.”

“How do you know?” The Duke tucked the plans away. “Who's to say it's not?”

“Because if it was,” Mike guessed, “You wouldn't be betting it on a drag race.”

“WOW! Okay, Number 3, I take it back.” The Duke slammed his hands down on Mike's shoulders and bowed his head down. “The little babies are too ignorant to join the party. Excellent gatekeeping job. You can escort them-”

“All right, stop!” Mike snapped. “What is the contest? What do I have to do to win those from you?”

“Mikey!” Chuck whimpered. “What are you saying?!”

“Oh, dear sweet summer children.” When The Duke raised his head again, it was with a wild smirk, and his eyes were peering out from behind his shades. “You win the drag contest. As in the 'dress in drag' contest. As in you put on your best bra and panties, lace up the pumps, _slap on a miniskirt and high-tail it up here, dressed to the nines_ , and the **sexiest** motherfucker in the mansion gets the plans!”

“OH no!” Chuck wailed and started to leave. “Nononono! No! No!”

“You mean right up here?” asked Mike. “Your mansion. Inside. With everybody else.”

The Duke lowered in sunglasses to get in a proper disbelieving look. “Cha?”

“We're in.”

“We're WHAT?!” yelled Chuck.

Dutch protested, “What?! Mike, no, Mike- think about what you just said-”

The Duke gave him another grin. “ _We_ , Mr. Chilton?”

“All of us,” said Mike. His shoulders were set, and his smile was on tight. “We. Are in.”

It was a cool moment until he had to hear about it the entire way back to the garage. Chuck only gave him disapproving looks along with Dutch the whole walk back, but oh, once they were all in Mutt-

“We're IN?!” Chuck screamed. “You wanna go up to the Duke of Detroit in stripper clothes, THAT'S fine, Mikey, but WHY did you involve US?!”

“Like, I always thought Chuck was exaggerating when he said you just dragged him into doing crazy shit,” said Dutch, “But now? NOW I believe him!”

“Why wouldn't you believe me?!” wailed Chuck. “Do you see what I have to deal with every day?!”

“Look,” Mike defended, “It- it just sounded better, okay? I didn't wanna do it on my own.”

“You could have STAYED home!” said Dutch. “You could have PLAYED Lazer Swords 3! Didn't we learn this?!”

Mike nearly flinched when Texas's call icon popped up over the dash. “Texas hears yelling and accusations! What happened?”

“Texas?” Mike's eyes went back to the road. “How'd you get on the line?”

In his peripheral vision, Mike saw Chuck's hand falling away from a key screen. “Texas, get Julie! She's gotta hear this.”

Julie's icon popped on. “I already heard Texas yelling. What's up?”

“Guys?” Mike did not cower, he was just trying to stay closer to the door than the guys right now. “Can we not?”

Dutch leaned forward and into the call screen. “Oh no! Mr. 'We'-Are-Dressing-Up-In-Women's-Clothing is owning up to-”

“Mr. What?!” Julie's voice nearly cracked into a squeak, while Texas out-and-out started guffawing into the line. “What did you guys _do_?!”

Mike drove faster just to try and get Chuck and Dutch to scream instead of talk. It just made them talk louder, and it got them back to the garage faster, where Jacob's unbelieving laughter immediately clued Mike into the fact that he'd overheard everything. Great.

Mike did cower a little once Dutch and Chuck got out. “Are you guys mad?”

“No,” and then Dutch 'patted' the back of his head so hard that his chin hit his chest.

“Ow.”

“If this turns out to be a prank,” said Chuck, his voice a weak warble after the hard drive, “I'm not riding shotgun with you anymore.”

It was an empty threat, but the idea of it still hurt. Chuck knew where to hit. Mike followed up behind them, tail between his metaphorical legs, until he took the far seat at the counter while Texas and Julie got the end recap of what had happened.

Texas had a stupid dance at the ready. “Tiny got played~”

“Your ego's gonna get you in trouble one of these days,” said Julie. “But there's no way The Duke has plans for Doctor Hudson's power cell thingy.”

“But... it was so specific,” said Mike. He was starting to feel a little terrible over this. Maybe The Duke had played him just to see the look on his face.

“This is that rock and roll guy with the limos, right?” Jacob asked. “I've got a call going in to Hudson now. He'll straighten all of this up for us, and once he tells us it's a false alarm, you can just skip out on the stupid party.”

“The Duke's missing out!” Texas tossed his hair and flexed. “Texas was about to rock the muumuu.”

Dutch's laughter spilled out of his mouth like bad soup. “Really?? Didn't you hear us? It was going to the 'sexiest motherfucker at the party'. You were not gonna win with a muumuu.”

Texas only hit another pose, one enough to make the zipper of his jumpsuit creak. “Do not underestimate the Power of Texas.”

Chuck took a seat right next to Mike and sat themselves with their arms together. Dutch's scowl tempered off into a hearty laugh and a digression into something else to talk about, and Julie didn't even give it another look. Mike, wind knocked out of him, took a deep breath and let a little more weight fall on Chuck's upper arm.

“I, uh...” Mike sighed again. “Sorry I embarrassed you guys in front of- I mean... yeah. I wasn't thinking. The Duke just gets under my skin.”

“More than most other guys, yeah.” Chuck spoke quieter, just for Mike to hear. “But you're not alone with him, you know? We have your back, but-”

“But I overstepped, yeah. I'm sorry.”

“As long as you know we all love you anyway. If the situation's really bad,” Chuck confirmed. “Then we're all behind you, 100%. Even if it involves bras and panties.”

That made Mike laugh. Oh man, that would've been a trip, wouldn't it? This would be a fun memory to look back on in the goofy times they'd shared together, although he was a little irked he told The Duke to his face that they would be there. Oh well. Served him right. The Duke would probably spend the whole party tense, waiting for them while the Burners stood him up like the chump he was.

Doctor Hudson's face flashed into view on a comm screen. “Jacob! I can't think- I got your call, but I'm terribly distracted! My lab has been ransacked! The notes- I was reassembling plans for my power core, and they were stolen last night!”

“They were what?!” Jacob wailed. The Burners all crowded the screen, watching in horror as Doctor Hudson panned out the camera to survey the broken and battered lab.

“I thought I could keep them safe by doing them on paper- that way my files couldn't be hacked! But something got in! I don't know how they found out, but-”

“I knew it!” Mike slammed his palm against the counter. “I fucking knew it!”

“You knew what??” Hudson pivoted back into view fast, pale and wrinkled with worry. “Do you know what happened to them?!”

“I do!” Mike shoved forward into the frame. “Don't worry, doc, I'll get them-”

“We...” Chuck put his hand forward, on top of Mike's. Every inch of his voice was dripping with anxiety and regret, but his hand was still there. “ _We'll_ get them back for you.”

“ROCKIN' THE MUUMUU!” Texas's hand joined the pile. “GO TEXAS!”

“Oh my god, Mike.” Julie put her hand in. “How do you get us into these things?”

“What's happening?” asked Hudson, very confused, on the other end.

Dutch covered the whole hand pile with his own. “Okay for the record, all of you? Are crazy. I'm still in. Now that this is actually a thing, we're taking it seriously.”

“We've got three days to prepare.” Mike took a deep breath. “We need heels. And skirts. Any of you know clothes?”

The thought hit him before anybody could answer him. They needed Claire.

This was going to be a rough three days.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Dawn of the First Day” was what Chuck had called it. It just started as a simple call that Jacob put out: The Burners needed nice clothes in a hurry. It anticlimactically started with helping an older lady in a tailor shop, doing really normal things like changing lightbulbs and patching holes in the wall. They even fine-tuned her sewing machine back to working order, although that was less them being good at machines and more her knowing just what to do and not having the dexterity to do it. It was fine with Mike. His gut was still tight, wanting to plan or move or rush into The Duke's mansion to take the plans back single-handedly so he wouldn't have to put his friends through whatever that lunatic had in store.

Dutch had asked him about it, at some point. “This really bothering you that much?”

“Why wouldn't it?” Mike admitted while he adjusted a tension screw. “I did kind of drag you guys into one of his dumb publicity stunts, again.”

“Yeah, but if you hadn't taken the bait,” Dutch figured. “Wouldn't somebody else really bad get the power core instead?”

“Maybe it was all a plan to get Tiny's attention!” Texas guessed from under a massive rack of fur coats. “So The Duke could add him to his personal Man Harem of servants who do nothing but polish his bling and feed him tiny snack cakes!”

The conversation wandered after that, with and without the old lady involved. They didn't talk to her too much. She did spend a lot of her time watching them, though, when she thought they weren't looking. Mike felt her wizened little eyes burning into the backs of his legs more than once, and Texas accused her of touching his ass at least three times. It all seemed a little too mellow. Something was up.

When they left, she'd unloaded a trunk each into the backs of the Burner's cars heavy enough to make the suspension sag and their rear bumpers brush the concrete on every bump. She didn't take no for an answer. They had to take them. She stood in front of their cars if they tried to leave without them.

When they opened them back at the garage, the trunks exploded into clothing. They never got them to fit that flat ever again. It was a scary amount of clothes. They smelled like old lady. Mike found a ballgown in his. Dutch found one of those high-necked Chinese dresses nobody knew the name of, while Julie's had suits upon suits. Chuck found lingerie and promptly threw it away like it was a live snake, screaming. Texas grabbed it and started chasing Chuck around the garage, threatening him with Panty Power, before Julie took a few snapshots of some outfits and sent them to Claire.

By the second day, Claire was there well before any of them were ready to wake up. Mike knew, because he was sleeping on the couch and he was the one to hear Claire banging on the door and demanding to be let inside. He cracked it open, eyes still heavy with sleep. “G'mornin...”

“Why did you not tell me there was fashion down here in this dirt hole?! Everybody get undressed!” Claire rolled her sleeves up. “I brought make up!”

Julie was just barely hanging on to wakefulness beside her, waving on her feet but fully dressed. “She's been talking about this since yesterday...”

Mike took a few seconds to realize he should probably be flustered standing around in an oil-stained V neck and his boxers. His sleepwear was not the classiest. “I'm... already undressed?”

Claire's eyes scanned him, judging and finding him lacking. “Get RE-undressed! Put on better underwear! Something that actually looks good! Where's Dutch? I need him to be my color consultant.” Claire pushed past him into the garage, immediately flinching. “EUGH what is that smell?!”

“Gasoline?” Mike rubbed at his eyes. “Jules, what? How? Early. Why.”

Julie yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Friend happy. Can't no.”

“Oh okay.”

“Who's at the door?” Chuck's voice seemed so small as he slipped out of his room. It was one of the few times he could be heard without a worried waver at the back of his throat. “I swore I heard noi-OH GOD CLAIRE!”

“You! Get downstairs!”

“MIKE GET UP HERE AND PINCH ME SO I WAKE UP!”

“Oh, right, the-” Mike rubbed at his temples. “The 'Claire seeing Chuck in his underwear' nightmare-” He called into the garage. “You're not asleep this time, Chuck! Just roll with it!”   
“OH GO-HO-HOOOOD!”

Morning continued to be a mess as Claire threw clothing into their hands. Try this on, she ordered. Do that one. Do this one. Combine these two. Chuck got things chucked at his head, while Dutch had outfits handed to him and Texas got things nudged toward him with a stick. It had started easy enough: slacks. Some dress shirts that were tight across the armpits. Pink. A lot of pink.

Mike started to feel a little strange when the skirts came into play. Sure, he felt silly wearing them in general. His shoulders were broad, and it was drafty around his junk, and he looked odd in dresses just by virtue of them not being made for him. Even ditching the skirts, he found himself wearing just a vest and some shorts to make it easier to try on different outfits. He'd even put on some fishnets for a laugh. Chuck squealed when he saw them, and it was worth the laugh. He felt just a little ridiculous.

When he first got a good look of Texas in a dress, his mouth started watering.

“Texas, PLEASE stop flexing and let me zip you!” Claire struggled against that zipper with both hands, doing her best to finish zipping it over the broad expanse of Texas's back. He was a wall of toned muscle underneath, just barely held in check by the little black dress. “You'd fit if you stopped!”

“Wrong-o, Claire! Any dress that can't contain my muscle-age is worth NOTHING to me!” He just flexed in a different direction, undoing about an inch of zipper and a mile of Claire's patience. “HWOOOAAAH!”

“MUSCULATURE!” Dressing Chuck fell upon Julie, who'd started braiding his hair out of his face and gave up once Chuck had undone it a few times. He hadn't really gotten comfortable with changing in front of the others so much as he'd accepted it and tried to move on. He was holding up strangely well, even with Julie reduced to a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra. Maybe his nervousness only happened around Claire? That said, Chuck almost seemed to be making an effort to not look in Julie's direction. “'Musculature' is a word, 'mucilage' is a word, 'muscle-age' is something you made up that sounds like the wrong word! Quit it!”

“You're just jealous 'cause you don't look good in anything, Mr. No-Butt. HEY, Dutch, hey, hey, Dutch, ask me my secret!”

Dutch sighed, halfway into putting on a gold lamé shirt. “What's your secret, Texas?”

Texas put on his deepest, most dramatic voice, and whispered. “I'm always angry.” He flexed so hard the dress split at the seams, and it fell off of his body in slinky ribbons to drape over his thighs and pool at his feet.

Somebody whimpered, and Mike only realized it was him when everyone turned to look at him.

“... what? What?!” Mike gestured to the little fabric scraps on the ground. “That was hot! That's- you can't disagree with me, it's objectively sexy!”

Now reduced to a pair of running shorts, Texas flexed again. “Well, it's true.”

“Is Mike okay?” Claire asked.

Julie was halfway to snickering against Chuck's back, and he had gone very red. “Got any little confessions you wanna make there, tiger?”

“Why are you all looking at me weird?!” asked Mike. “It's literally just the truth! That was hot! It's not that complicated!”

“Hey, uh, if you're into dudes and all, that's cool!” Dutch finally finished pulling on the shirt. “But it's _Texas_.”

Texas turned so his ass was facing Mike and clenched his cheeks together, then _bounced_ them. “Mike's obviously got good taste.”

“GOD! Stop that!” Mike covered his eyes for good measure. He did not need to see that, that was just way too much muscle on a part of Texas he wasn't happy dwelling on. “Okay, we're gonna make today about this? Fine. Yes, I like dudes as much as I like girls. There. Happy? Cool.”

Dutch made a noise. “But it's Texas.”

“Texas is objectively hot!” Mike released his eyes. “Look if you- GHA-”

Texas was RIGHT in his personal space, and before he knew it, Texas had flopped onto him and was posing on top of him like 'one of his French girls'. Texas checked his nails. “No, please, keep the compliments coming. Texas will repay you in his presence.”

Mike didn't resist, not yet. Being folded into the couch would have been kinda nice if his hip wasn't at a funny angle and he was doing this, of course, willingly. “Texas will get his head back down to normal size, thank you. I don't think you're necessarily hotter than anybody else in this room.”

“Oh, BURN!” Claire cheered. “Wait, everybody? Even Chuck?”

“Especially Chuck- Julie hold him down.”

Julie grabbed onto Chuck around the waist and kept him held fast to the chair, even as he was making a break for the other room. Claire was still protesting. “Ew! But look at him!”

“YOU look at him! Skinny dudes are hot!” Mike kept going even through Chuck's whimpers of protest. He planted his hands in the couch and pushed up until Texas fell off of him and into the clothing pile at his feet. “And he's tall and blonde and has freckles- he is all the things that would be hot on a girl! What's the problem?”

“That he isn't a girl! Duh!” Claire gasped. “Oh my god. I just had a breakthrough. Wait right here!”

Claire scampered over to one of the trunks and started digging like a mole. Chuck, meanwhile, slowly deflated in Julie's arms and curled up into the pile of clothes on the floor. “Okay, you can just leave me here to die, thank you.”

Dutch perked up. “Am I hot?”

“Yes!” Mike yelled. Why did they keep asking him?! He was being perfectly clear! “You are one of the people in this room! You are hot!”

Julie held up her captive Chuck the best she could. “Me too?”

“Yes, Julie, you are also a person in the room, therefore hot. Is this gonna be a thing now?”

“Okay, I think we gotta stop.” Dutch doubled over to check on Chuck from floor-level. “Chuck's kinda lookin' like he's gonna die.”

Texas shrugged from on top of the clothing pile. “Learn to take a compliment, No-Butt.”

“I FOUND ONE!” Claire held whatever she was looking for aloft in triumph. It was... cloth, Mike could tell, and held together by a lot of ribbon. “Stand Chuck up! This'll fix everything!”

Julie shrugged. “Well, you heard the lady.” He hefted, but Chuck's force of will and deadweighting kept her from making progress. She grinned. “All right, guys, some help please.”

“What?! NO!” Chuck got his feet planted. “NO-”

Every Burner converged on Chuck as he made a run for the door. Julie kept hold of his waist while Texas dove for his legs. Knocked over mid-stride, Chuck fell right into Mike's arms and got his own wrists grabbed by Dutch. Everybody's hands were on him, spreading his ankles shoulder width apart and holding his hands high above his head. He was all but strung up and on display, every inch of a bare chest exposed along with the tight pair of boy shorts that he wore for modesty.

How did Mike wind up in the front, holding him by the shoulders? He thought Texas was bad. Chuck stretched out was taller than him and the view was spectacular, and he was shivering and just starting to sweat and-

“Ohp, Mike's having another gay moment,” Texas pointed out.

Snapping back into reality, Mike growled, “Texas, oh my god! What is WITH you?!”

“Okay, guys, look, this has all been REALLY funny!” Chuck arched away from Claire as she wrapped the whatever it was around his waist. Mike could see now that it was torso-shaped, and the ribbons laced together in small sections on the side. By the way Claire's hands were moving behind Chuck, apparently there was more in the back, and little by little they tightened around Chuck's waist. “HAHA, let's call Chuck 'sexy' and 'hot' to his face even when he isn't! GOOD JOKE! Never heard that one before-”

Claire instructed, “Tell me if it pinches or gets too hard to breathe now!”

“-but this is getting weird!”

Mike could attest to that. Chuck's waist was shrinking with every word. It was getting hard for Mike to breathe. Each little cinch of the ribbons got him that much smoother and rounder, with some stiff ribbing material inside the cloth giving him a tiny middle and a wider hip.

“But it's time to let this ALL go, and face the fact tha-that I was born a knobbly l-little stick and I... I can't... uh...”

Chuck trailed off with a little puff of breath, and Claire tied the ribbon into a tight bow at the top. “There! Thought that would work. You can let him go now.”

Chuck's breath came in shallow little pants that made his chest heave. Waist cinched and hips flared just a smidge, it was his chest that looked the most dramatic. It was broader, or seemed broader, and when Dutch released his hands Chuck put them right on his waist and just... rubbed himself, up and down, along his sides over and over again.

“How's it look?” Claire asked the group.

Everyone leaned in. Julie even came around to the front to get a better view. She asked, “How's it _feel_?”

“It feels really good,” Chuck immediately answered. No thought required, no shyness, no hesitating, it just did. His voice sounded distant, in awe of his own body. His hands never stopped. “My back feels so straight.”

“It is.” Dutch moved back a step to take in all of him. “Dude, I didn't even know you were taller than me.”

“I-I think it's the pressure?” Chuck's fingertips passed the catches on the front of the waist cincher. “Something about it, it's like... I feel just... it's good. It's really good.”

“It's called a corset!” Claire explained with delight. “It's what the cavewomen used before bras were invented! Now that you're a little more girl-shaped, finding something that looks good on you should be easy!”

“Texas is only minorly jealous.” He elbowed at Mike's side. “How you feelin', Tiny? Havin' another gay moment?”

Mike tried to find a word. “Dmnkly...” Instead, he reached out and put his hands around Chuck's waist. His thumbs touched each other. _His middle fingertips touched each other._ Mike's heart hurt. “Oh.”

Claire huffed. “I feel like we're getting off-topic.”

Mike cracked into a laugh. “What topic?! We've literally spent all day trying on fetish gear!”

Chuck snarked right back, daring to crack a smile. “Says the dude in fishnets.”

“Dude, I legit forgot I had those on.” Mike had to look down to check, even. He did indeed, and they were falling down. “What is wrong with me?”

“Hotness overload.” Texas sidled right up to Mike, bare back against his waist. “That'll happen.”

“Texas what the hell!” Mike put his palm right down on top of Texas's head and shoved. “And you're needling _me_ about having gay moments!”

Texas shoved right back, and within seconds they had each other in headlocks on the floor, trying to pin each other.

Julie was starting to break, repressed giggles coming through just a little louder than Chuck's breathless laugh. “I can't believe it. Every decision I've ever made in my life has lead to this moment: kinky dude wrestling in underwear.”

“Let it be known right now,” Dutch said, “That I'm secure in my masculinity with a steady girlfriend.”

“Why make the note?” asked Julie.

“Because I wanna keep all these clothes,” said Dutch, “AND because we're gonna be the sexiest motherfuckers at the party.”

“The par- crap, I actually forgot about the party!” Mike stopped wrestling and slapped his forehead. Texas didn't let go. “Gah!”

Chuck boggled. “How could you forget?!”

Mike yelled so loud he made his own ears hurt. “I HAVE SPENT ALL MORNING LOOKING AT NAKED CHESTS AND BOOBIES AND TEXAS JIGGLING HIS ASS AT ME!”

Jacob stomped on the ceiling from the bar upstairs.

Mike went limp. “Okay you can leave me here to die, thanks.”

“Don't die now!” Claire whipped out her compact. “I haven't done your makeup tests yet.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Julie was the one that started saying “We're going to win” first. Julie looked damn good in a black tuxedo and tie, and even better when Jacob brought her a top hat and cane. Claire did her hair into a ballerina topknot so it could tuck under the top hat. The temptation was great, and Julie found the shoes, but in the end she didn't have the bravery to wear taps to the party. The flats she did wear shined like obsidian after a long polish, black enough to see her reflection in them. Julie got dressed early just to pose around the garage on any chair or flat surface, legs crossed and toes pointed, and make powerful decrees to fetch her drinks or a sandwich from the bar.

Chuck towered over all of them in heels with the corset straightening his back. The tight buttoned shirt and the pencil skirt he'd chosen made for a good match with knee-high white stockings. To Julie's delight, his hair was just long enough in the back to pull into a bun while leaving his bangs hanging in the front. It was Dutch's idea to put a pen behind his ear, but it fell out twice, so Texas took it and stuck it into Chuck's bun like a hairpin instead. Nobody could find a clipboard to pull off the stereotypical librarian carry, so rather than carry around a heavy book, Chuck cracked out his old physical tablet computer and charged it to full for the first time in a year.

Artistically indecisive, Dutch left his outfit to the very last minute and only assembled it at three in the morning on the day of the party. His hair went untouched, and so following through, he found himself the tallest pair of platforms he could and decked himself out in gold bell bottoms and a crop top tied at the chest. A half jacket with long cuffed sleeves, also gold, finished the disco diva ensemble, and Dutch bragged the entire way over that he was the only one with an exposed midriff. He was certain to win. He danced until he tripped on a fallen bra and spent the rest of the wait for the party playing video games on the big screen.

Dutch's earlier assertion was, of course, an affront to Texas, who claimed that he was totally winning, because he had the power of sexy legs. Claire eventually just gave up on anything with arms, so Texas wound up in the minimal black cocktail dress, with a high neck that fit Texas snug and a skirt that was only just long enough to keep his ass covered when he walked. He was taller than usual, as well, gaining a good four inches just from the heels of his matching black pumps. The rest of the Burners almost believed he could win, except for the fact that his outfit was literally capped with his normal Burner baseball cap. Texas wouldn't let them touch it. It was lucky, he said. It ruined the look, they all said, but after a few seconds' thought they all quietly agreed that it was very Texas and that they weren't winning this one.

This was his team at his best, and he lead them into the Duke of Detroit's mansion with pride in his heart and a spring in his step. Dawn- well, six in the afternoon- of the Third Day, and they were ready. They had a plan to win, and Mike had a backup that was sure to succeed even if The Duke tried something funny. Mike threw the doors open himself, the Burners fanning out in a V behind him. They walked like murder and they smiled like winning. Tonight was theirs.

The party was already in full swing. Nobody noticed. Mike scowled. (He couldn't see it, but everyone else had, too.) Well, there went his groove. Putting all that effort into a badass entrance and nobody was there to appreciate it. Time to just enjoy the party.

It wasn't like they'd never been in the mansion before, but even with the high ceilings and polished stone walls, the Duke of Detroit alone was enough to fill the empty space and make it seem like he owned the whole room. Here, with hundreds of people filling the entry hall alone, the noise was nearly deafening. Mike had never seen such a tangle of colors, everybody matched only with their own group and standing out against everybody else. It was almost like a map of Motorcity with the colors inverted.

“Tiny.” Texas jabbed at the small of his back. “Tiny. Tiny, look. That guy has a cocktail weenie.”

Mike scanned the crowd, trying to see what Texas was talking about. He was pretty sure he recognized the guy in geisha dress from Rayon's Skylarks, and he indeed had a little sausage on a stick. “Yeah? What about it?”

Texas cocked an eyebrow, as if his point wasn't abundantly clear. “I want a cocktail weenie.”

Mike shoved his head. “You are a cocktail weenie.”

“Hey!” Chuck couldn't project in his corset, so his words came out in a low, breathy gasp. “I know that reference!”

“So what do we do from here?” asked Dutch. “Recon?”

“Exactly,” said Mike. “Scope out who's here and where they're gathering, plus anything we have at our disposal. Chuck, you're with me. We're going to find The Duke.”

“Oh, right...” Chuck sighed. “Okay.”

Julie's attention snapped to Chuck. “What do you mean 'oh right'?”

“Don't worry about it. Just check in every half hour.” Mike took Chuck's hand and lead them deep into the crowd. That had been close. He'd only gone over the back-up plan with Chuck on the drive over, not telling the others in case The Duke did some kind of weird charisma mind-reading trick and discerned it before he could even pull it off.

“Man, we're...” Chuck paused, searching for the right words. “We're not hesitating at all on this side plan, are we? You know, maybe we'll just win the contest? And we can enjoy ourselves and make dumb jokes about how good we look, like back at home?”

That was tempting, said the back of Mike's mind, but the physical Mike rolled his eyes. “You know The Duke's got some ridiculous plan up his sleeve. You honestly think he's gonna give anybody here a fair shake?”

“Oh... good point...” Chuck's fingers wiggled in Mike's hand.

“Besides, you aren't walking around with a stuffed bra,” said Mike. “I'm starting to sweat just being in here.”

Chuck's eyes wandered, already about a head taller than most of the crowd. “Because of your bra or because of all the people in here- Mike they aren't wearing tops!”

Mike stopped in his tracks, and Chuck slammed into him. “What?! Who?”

“Look!” Chuck grabbed the back of his head and turned it in the right direction. Over by the snack table stood the fierce all-female gang. The Amazons were dressed as Robin Hood and his Merry Men, but only in pants and boots. Their “tops”, upon closer observation, were body paint. Mike's mouth ran dry.

“Okay...” Mike managed. “We're definitely not winning.”

“Certainly not dressed like that, Mike Chilton!”

The Duke of Detroit shoved himself between Mike and Chuck, pulling them close in a mockery of a hug. He, Mike noted, was wearing his usual outfit. Nothing 'drag' about it, at least more than usual, and Mike felt just a touch superior. Still, he was touching him, and Mike didn't like it. “What's wrong with how I'm dressed?”

“Oh, nothing!” The Duke of Detroit stepped away and framed Mike in his fingers. Mike had come dressed in a flowing linen dress with short, ruffled sleeves and a green bodice. It dipped low, let him stuff the front so he looked the part of a buxom wench. Other than that, he hadn't done anything to his hair, and he wore his usual pair of boots. The Duke of Detroit grinned, fierce and all malice, at the outfit. “Great getup for the Renn Fair. Love the biergarten look! You're gonna make a great wife some day for a nerd with posters of dragons above his bed.”

Chuck made a faint protesting “Hey!” behind The Duke.

“Just keep up that swagger for when we win the contest,” said Mike. “You'll need it for the angry protesting mobs.”

“Oh yeah, sure, of course!” The Duke teased right back. “I'm sure you and Ms. Hot-For-Teacher will make a real splash.”

The Duke disappeared into the crowd just as Chuck was squeaking “I am a librarian!”.

“All right,” said Mike. “Phase one's down. Come on, Chuck.”

“Mike wai-aih!”

There was no time to lose. Now that the Duke of Detroit knew what he was wearing, it was time to find a room and change. Once he was in his back-up outfit, he could walk around without catching The Duke's eye and find those plans before the contest and just fucking steal them back. No mess, no fuss, and then back to Doctor Hudson before The Duke realized he'd been burgled.

The first room they found had a couple inside.

The second room they found had TWO couples inside.

By the third, Chuck was whispering into Mike's ear, “Mike, I am wearing a pencil skirt! I can't afford to catch another couple _en flagrante delecto_!”

Mike could relate, painfully, and swallowed hard. “Dude, I know- just- think about all the people we won't have to deal with later!” Mike cracked open the door first- this had to be something like The Duke's 74th spare bedroom- and threw it open upon finding it empty. “GOOD okay in here Chuck watch the door- and unzip me!”

“Damn it damn it damn it-” Chuck pulled down the zipper on the bodice too fast, snagging it in the dress, and re-zipped it to unzip it slow. “Stupid- Renn Fair, dragon posters...”

“Hey, I liked the outfit you picked,” Mike assured him. He was already pulling the pieces of his new costume out of his bra and slipping them on where he could. Once he felt the pressure leave his chest, Mike sloughed off the bodice and let the dress fall off his shoulders and down to the floor. He kicked off his boots and put them aside to give to Chuck, so they could go back into Mutt and not get left behind. He thought skirts were drafty already; he felt really cold in just his underwear. Duke of Detroit had enough money and power for air conditioning. “Don't let what he said get to you.”

“It just- it's not JUST a dragon...” Chuck protested, one eye on the door. “If there's a naked chick on top, it doesn't count...”

On went his real outfit: harem pants and a halter top with silk sleeves, and a matching veil for his hair and mouth. He looked good in this shade of pink, and more importantly, it covered half his face. This would do just fine for staying out of The Duke's way. “If it makes you feel any better, I bet he's got a poster of a naked chick on top of a car above his bed.”

Chuck giggled. “Not even a naked chick. Just a car on top of another car.”

That made Mike laugh in earnest. He slipped his old costume under the room's king-sized bed and passed his boots to Chuck. “All right, I'm on phase three. Call me once you're back in the mansion and I'll let you-”

Chuck swallowed hard. Mike felt eyes on him, even through Chuck's bangs. His buddy was weirdly still against the door frame. “Dude. You okay?”

“I- d-distracted, is it-” Chuck laughed a little airy titter. “Is it bad I'm more turned on now than when you were naked?”

Mike was sorely tempted to drop the whole mission and take advantage of both Chuck and the king sized bed right the hell now. “... Chuck.” Mike laid a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't meet Chuck's face, he could not, he kept his focus right on the metal catches for the corset and wow that wasn't making it any easier. “You gotta tell me these things once we're home. Why.”

“It's the corset,” Chuck admitted, “I-I don't get nervous when I'm wearing it. I think it's anxiety proof.”

“You're killing me, Smalls.”

“I get that reference too!”

“GOD, Chuck, just-” Mike opened the door and shoved him out. Chuck was too cute for Mike's sanity, and if Chuck didn't think he could afford a stiffy in a pencil skirt then how was Mike supposed to get away with one in harem pants? “Go! Go to Mutt. I'll try to hurry. I'm ready to be home RIGHT now.”

Time to rush the next stage of the plan.

 


	4. Chapter 4

There it was. The Duke of Detroit's jacket was just hanging over the back of his throne, the plans sticking out of the inner pocket. It would be that easy. Mike just climbed up those stairs like the most casual thing in the universe, ready to pocket that paper and leave out the back door where Julie and Chuck were waiting. Sure, it made him feel like a massive target. The Duke of Detroit didn't just have a chair, no, he had a big fuck-off gold throne at the top of a gold staircase in the middle of the room surrounded by partygoers, but he was Mike Chilton. It was fine. He was just going to walk up some stairs, and get that paper, and everything would be fine. He would be fine. He was fine. Julie was damn fine- damn it, this was so easy he was getting distracted. After this was over, he was either going to have to hang with everybody in their drag clothes or in no clothes at all, because he had a bunch of new kinks today that he hadn't had a few days ago. This would take a hard mental reset before he could think about them normally again.

Oh, he was at the throne already. Guess it was time to pick up the plans. Was anyone looking at him? He checked over his shoulders. Not really. The crowd below was, for the most part, all ogling each other. He could see Chuck's head, Mr. Tall-And-Blond, way over by a door, and he was looking at him. All right, this was easy! Mike took the plans and-

Wait. His pants didn't have pockets.

Oh no, he could feel heat against his mostly-bare back. Please don't let that be-

The Duke of Detroit's voice was honeyed with malice. “Well, hello there, beautiful.”

Mike turned on his heel, plans lamely hidden behind his back. There was The Duke. He shyly laughed in a tiny falsetto, trying to disguise his voice. The Duke's smile only grew.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance!” The Duke stepped forward, and Mike reflexively stepped back and immediately tripped onto the throne. His arm landed against the arm of the chair and hurt like a son of a bitch, but he was pretty sure he hadn't seriously hurt it. The Duke kept talking. “You don't look like any of the other gangs I've talked to! Love the bellydancer look! Original! You've got the skin to pull it off! What are you, like, Middle Eastern? Ish?”

Mike both didn't want to talk, and honestly did not know. His shoulders automatically twitched in a shrug.

“Look, beautiful?” The Duke asked. “I can call you Mike, right?”

His hand lashed out and yanked the veil right off Mike's face. “Hey!”

The walls exploded in a shower of pyrotechnics and sparklers, and when the fires died, it was Mike's unveiled face projected onto every single bare wall, 20 feet high, for the whole party to see.

“MIKE CHILTON!” The Duke postured for the crowd, speaking into his ruby scepter. “I cannot believe you fell for that! Just leaving the grand prize out unattended?! Thinking you could just take it and leave, and that it's NOT an obvious trap? That plan's less subtle than... me!” He twirled the staff in his hand and popped Mike in the bellybutton with the bottom. “Where IS your head today, Mike? Up in the clouds? Or maybe it's down there with all the tight-fitting pants and well-filled brassieres.”

How was a man this crazy this good at reading his mind? Mike was already getting hot under the collar, and maybe it was just that he'd been primed for the last couple days but he was starting to see what The Duke had going for him, especially while he was spread out over a throne. He could see himself blushing in his own camera footage, and the crowd below was starting to murmur and jeer. He could feel something terrible, something painful coiling in his gut, something that took him a second to find a word for: humiliation.

“Maybe I'll just keep you around, Chilton.” The Duke took the end of his staff and rested it against Mike's cheek, turning his head with gentle pressure. “You do look so pretty dressed up like that. Maybe I'll make a little man harem with you at the center, just for polishing my bling and feeding me tiny snack cakes.”

Texas's voice boomed out of the crowd. “OH MY GOD! TEXAS WAS RIGHT!”

The memory came back to him like a shot to the head. Texas had called it right down to the snack cakes. The tense atmosphere broke, like a thread snapping along Mike's back, and he started to giggle. “Oh my god. That's what this has all been about, hasn't it? You planned this whole party just to get me in some skimpy negligee in front of everybody you know, didn't you?”

The Duke didn't answer right away, but his eyebrows shot up his forehead, and his smile twitched. Mike's battle smile clicked into place, and he started shifting his weight. “What, did you think this would break me? Surprise: I like looking good! Everyone here does! Everyone here's having fun! There's people down there with their clothes literally painted on, and are they embarrassed?”

Somewhere down in the crowd, a gaggle of women's voices cheered, “HELL no!”

“But I do notice who IS embarrassed.” Mike put a finger under the tip of the scepter and pushed it right back at The Duke. Time for the killing blow. “Because there's exactly one person here who isn't dressed for his own party. Hmm. Wonder why that is. But I guess it's hard to compete with a guy a third your age.”

The crowd wailed with a collective “OOOOOO” and Mike swore he was back in middle school for a second.

Then the Duke of Detroit went red with rage and pulled out a gun, and that's when Mike decided to move onto the final phase: escape the party! Mike backflipped off the chair and ducked the shot. It slipped right over his head and glanced the armrest. Before the Duke could prime another shot, Mike launched out from the chair and flew down the stairs three steps at a time. “All right, guys, time to go!”

“You still got the plans, Mike?” said Julie over comm.

“Yep!”

That 'yep' echoed over every screen, and suddenly the crowd started converging on Mike instead of parting for him. Mike winced. “Oops, sorry.”

Mike danced over the crowd, thankful for his bare feet as he walked over a lot of shoulders and backs. He felt compelled to apologize. “Sorry- sorry! Kind of important- sorry! Don't mean to hurt anybody- hi Rayon looking good in the shoes!”

“Mike, this way!” Dutch waved from the edge of the crowd. He held out his hands. “Jump!”

He made the leap and landed in Dutch's arms, and they were running for the door, and damn it Mike felt really short now. “Are the roads clear?”

“We have a clean path of escape!” Dutch confirmed. Texas fell into a run behind him, and Julie took a place at Mike's other shoulder. “I've got the map downloaded to Mutt's GPS!”

“Good! Chuck?” Mike's steps faltered. “Where's Chuck?!” He stopped and turned; Chuck was too far behind. His shoulders were heaving. He waddled instead of running. The skirt- the breathing! Mike turned around and sprinted for him. “THE CORSET, FUCK!”

“Mike- go!” Chuck could barely talk above a whisper. His face was dangerously red, and he crumpled when Mike put his hands on him. “Hurry, I'm not worth-”

He couldn't go fast enough. The clasps were tiny and on tight, and if he wanted them off he'd have to get his fingernails under them and undo each and every little one- Mike grabbed the corset by the top and pulled as hard as he could in opposite directions. There was roar of tearing fabric in his own ears, and he felt the little spikes of pain where metal popped against his belly. It came away from Chuck in two clean halves; the sound of Chuck taking a deep, full breath was music to Mike's ears.

“WHAT IS WITH YOU TODAY, MIKEY!?” Chuck screamed. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE MADE OF PURE SEX EVERY GODDAMNED MINUTE?!”

“Good! You can breathe!” Mike grabbed Chuck around the waist and threw him over his shoulder. “Come on!”

The cars were all waiting for them in the parking lot; Julie parked them all, started their engines, and opened their doors so everyone could just jump in and go. The Burners peeled out of The Duke's mansion at what felt like the speed of sound. Their tires left gouges as they peeled out, barely heard over the rumble of every other party attendee jumping into and starting their own cars.

“Here you go, Chuck!” Mike tossed the paper roll into Chuck's hands. “Hold this for me, will ya?!”

“What are we supposed to do now?!” Chuck wailed. “Everybody knows we have this thing!”

“We just drive until we lose them!” Mike explained. He had to raise his voice a little to talk over the guns being shot at them, but it was nothing he hadn't handled before. “And return it to Doctor Hudson!”

Texas popped onto the comm. “And then we come back to the party? Texas wanted to go to the karaoke bash. Junior dissed Texas's karaoke skills.”

Dutch popped onto the comm just to make an angry noise.

“They're gaining on us, Mike!” Julie cut in. “I'm seeing something REALLY big coming over the hill!”

Mike shrugged. “What? It's probably just The Duke's limo cannon.”

Chuck flailed in the chair. “JUST the limo cannon?!”

“It is INDEEEEED the limo cannon!”

Spotlights unfolded from the tops of The Duke's junk piles. They tracked onto the Big Thing coming over the hill: a massive armored tank, gold and red of course, with the Duke of Detroit standing atop it. It was indeed the limo cannon, and The Duke had changed outfits into a pair of tight leather pants, a pink crop top, and enough fringe on the shoulders to nearly hide his massive shock of a perm. Mike only figured later that it was probably just a wig. At the moment, The Duke was talking into a mic and playing his best intimidation game. “Having fun, Chilton?! I worry; you left the party so fast!”

“Well,” Mike joked to Chuck. “He _is_ the one that changed into his pajamas.”

Chuck cackled.

“Sure, Mike!” said Dutch. “Make fun of the man with a limo shooting-”

A pile of broken cars before them toppled after a suspiciously limo-shaped hole suddenly appeared in the middle of it. It was nothing to dodge the falling debris, although Chuck did scream from the seat. Mike thought he caught the phrase “OOOH I MISSED BEING ABLE TO DO THAT” from Chuck, and that made him go hot, and it really shouldn't have. Mike was just too keyed up. Driving wasn't helping.

“That was for the crack about my 'pajamas', Mike!” said The Duke. “Obviously the little baby's not old enough to appreciate the PEAK of 80s hair metal!!!”

“How does he know what we're talking about?!” Chuck threw his hands at the dashboard- or rather, just past the dashboard, where one of The Duke's little gold webcams was planted right in the middle of Mutt's hood. “OH COME ON!”

“Hey, Chiltoooon?” The Duke of Detroit laughed. “You wanna take a closer look at those plans, maybe?”

“What?” Mike looked to Chuck, who took the piece of paper and unrolled it-

“OH _GOD_!!!”

“NO! _NO!_ _ **NO!**_ WHY?!”

The Duke of Detroit laughed all the way through his limo tank driving through the debris pile. “THAT'S why I threw the party! All that buildup for the PERFECT punchline!”

“Mike?!” Julie asked over the comm. “What's going on?!”

“These aren't the plans!” Mike grabbed the stupid paper and threw it out the window.

“Hey!” said Texas. “Don't throw your trash at my windshield- OH GOD IT'S THE DICK'S DUKE!”

Mike whipped Mutt into an alcove off the road and just... broke. Completely. He folded over the steering column and cackled, and then Chuck was laughing and fell over the gearshift to lean on his shoulder and laugh, and Dutch was laughing, and he couldn't think. He pounded the dash and gasped for air just to laugh even louder and longer, even while the limo tank rolled on by without noticing they were off the road. Somebody pulled up alongside them, one of the Weekend Warrior's vans, and they were laughing and Mike just couldn't take it. Everyone must have seen it!

“What- what is our life right now?!” Mike rolled onto Chuck's shoulder to just hold him and guffaw. “I didn't- who DOES this?!”

Chuck squeezed him tight. “Mike, I've never been happier to be your friend than this exact moment. Who ELSE gets into shit like this?!”

“OH baby! Was that ever worth iiiit~, YEAH!” The Duke continued over his loudspeaker, even while the tank stopped. “Hold on, I'm getting a call- YO, talk to me, sweetums!”

Mike's laughter started all over again when the Duke screeched “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SOMEBODY WON THE CONTEST?!”

“Who the hell?” Mike struggled for enough air to talk. “Who was entering- Chuck? Are you on the phone?”

Chuck nodded, absently listening to the call being piped directly into his ear... His face split into a massive grin, and his laughter started up all over again.

“Chuck?”

“DRIVE. HOME.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

They pulled over once to pull off The Duke's cameras and take turns stomping on them all with their heels. After that, it was a quick drive back to the garage, and everybody but Chuck seemed surprised to see the LARPing van parked in the front. Still in costume, most of them holding their shoes and eager sit down, the Burners made their way to the bar on double time.

The Oracle, Thurman, and Ruby all had their seats at the bar, and Jacob barely looked up from pouring their smoothies as his kids came in. “There you are! How was the party? You're home earlier than I thought.”

“Well met, Knights of the Burning Woods!” Thurman greeted. He was wearing a princess dress and conical hat with a tassle. Ruby snickered behind her barbarian fur cape. “Our mission was a success!”

“What mission?” Mike asked. “What- why are you-?!”

“We heard about The Duke's party, so we crashed it!” Ruby interrupted.

“We didn't crash it! It was open invitation,” Thurman corrected her. “Twas the Lord Vanquisher that told us of your noble quest!”

Ruby shrugged. “He was mostly just gushing about how nice wearing a corset felt.”

Chuck made a noise before Thurman continued. “We didn't even know it was a costume contest or anything, we just like dressing up. Then everybody left but us, and all the sudden there was a big marquee on the wall saying it was time for the contest, and we entered! The Oracle won!”

The Oracle, decked in nothing but his orange traffic cone had and a purple flowered muumuu, held out the real plans. It was unrolled and everything; the actual, legit, Doctor Hudson plans for the power core. He smiled. “A trophy from our latest conquest, for you, my lord.”

“MUUMUU!” Texas gestured so hard at The Oracle's 'costume' that veins were popping in his biceps. “MUUMUU!”

Dutch let out the most put-upon sigh he was capable of making. “Yes. Okay. You were right about the muumuu, too.”

“TWO FOR TWO!”

“Uuuh...” The Oracle's gaze snapped between Texas and Chuck. “What's he talking about?”

“Don't worry about it,” said Mike. He took the scroll and rolled it up tight. “Jacob, can you put this someplace?”

“I'm on duty!” said Jacob. “Hide your own damned MacGuffin. This whole week's been nothing but listening to you kids and your hormone-addled giggling through the floor. You know how happy I'm gonna be to get to go to bed in quiet for once?”

Julie slammed herself down onto a barstool. “I dunno, I'm kind of in the mood to stay up and giggle for another couple of hours.”

“Yeah, I know, right!? I feel too good to change clothes- wait, unless I can do this again.” Texas flexed as hard as he could, but unlike last time, the dress didn't explode. “Nope. Darn. This thing's made of sterner stuff.”

Thurman's eyebrow just kept going further up his forehead. “I think I'm starting to understand how you guys feel at sessions.”

Dutch sat down, finally, and stretched his legs out as far as he could. Mike eventually just went along with everybody else and took a seat too, with Chuck at his side. Dutch rolled his feet around in circles. “Look, just... can we just ignore that this ever happened? If anybody asks 'What'd you do this week' how about we don't say that we were at the Duke of Detroit's most elaborate set-up for a dick pic ever?”

Ruby nearly snorted her smoothie through her nose. “You what?!”

Jacob twitched. “Hang on, something's coming through on video call.”

Everyone nearly screamed as the Duke of Detroit's face appeared on the screen. “People of Motorcity! That scandal! That debacle! That unruly pansexual MOB... was the best party I've had in years! The Duke of Detroit is cordially extending the invitation now: let's do that again. See y'all on Halloween! Guests must be in costume. No minors allowed! BYOB: Bring your own BURNERS, ow! RSVP if you wanna bring teeny-weeny finger foods. DUKE OUT!”

And the call was over, just like that. Jacob closed the line. “Eh. Wanna do the haunted house this year, or go to this Duke character's place?”

Texas karate chopped the air. “I dunno, Texas is up for it.”

“Can we just have a moment to breathe, here?!” Chuck complained.

Julie snickered. “You need it more than the rest of us.”

It was Mike's turn to twitch. He checked his wrist comm; he was suddenly getting a lot of messages from a lot of people he only kind of knew, like Foxy of the Amazons and those robot-fighting chuckleheads. “What the-”

Everybody else jumped and started opening their comms. It was all photos from the party, either of the senders or of them. Most of Mike's were from a distance, and all of them were labeled something like “primo blackmail material wasted” or “can't shame you into favors if you enjoy it”. It was kind of cool.

Julie held up one she took of the Amazons all in the same shot. “Check it out; Claire's spank material for the next year.”

“Oh ew!” Chuck squeaked. “TMI! … although that does explain a lot, suddenly. You think she could've just told me that.”

“She's a little more in denial about this kinda stuff than I am,” explained Julie.

Dutch grinned. “Texas, are those pics of Junior?”

“NO!” Texas hid his screen behind his back. “Those are- um- lady butts! Texas is TOTALLY over that relationship!”

Mike kept scrolling until one slipped by and shocked him enough to double back: a pic of him tearing Chuck's corset open, all of his muscles bulging and the silk of his outfit ruffling in the wind, the torn halves of the piece framing Chuck's little waist in the perfect light.

“Woah!” Ruby gasped. “I was wondering where the corset went! You know, Chuck not wearing it and all.”

Mike's head hit the counter and he groaned. It was too much- it was too goddamned much and- “CHUCK, come with me a minute!” he forced out. “In the garage, just a sec, please?”

“Why, where we goin-”

Mike stood, lifted Chuck over his shoulder, and straight up left. “Because bisexual solidarity, damn it!”

“OW, bro, what the hell's in your pocket- aaahokayIgetitnow!”

Julie guffawed. “OH my god!”

Dutch very pointedly averted his eyes. “Can we all vote that we didn't see that happen, either?”

The Oracle smirked. “Gonna be just like his poster.”

Texas made a confused noise. “What's that mean?”

The smirk grew. “Riding the dragon.”

Texas scratched his head. “I'm more confused than when I asked the first time.”

Jacob sighed. “Well, I guess I won't be taking my break for the next hour. Come on, everybody, lemme top off your wheatgrass pineapple smoothies. It's gonna be a long night.”

 


End file.
